


and the sound of our breathing

by rory_the_dragon



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Light D/S overtones, M/M, Oral Sex, vocal rest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4738139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rory_the_dragon/pseuds/rory_the_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke's on vocal rest and Michael's making sure he sticks to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the sound of our breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Shamelessly inspired by Luke's soundcheck hand motions and encouraged by Gab's ruthless negotiations.

 

It’s weird, Luke being on vocal rest.

Michael decided as soon as it began that he didn’t much care for it. Like, he knows that Luke is in a lot of pain with his voice right now, and he’s glad that he’s not straining himself - though he’s not looking forward to the sounds Luke will be making after he’s screamed his heart out for the show tonight because Luke doesn’t know how to do anything half measures - but Luke is never this _quiet_.

He used to be, years ago. Hiding behind his phone or his fringe, never frightened to say anything when he needed to, but still shy enough that he’d just smile his stupidly beautiful smile instead of saying words that didn’t need saying. Back when they were idiots, even more so than they are now because Michael likes to think that they’ve grown up somewhat since they were fifteen, Michael never quite understood it, never understood anything that wasn’t loud and thrown in his face, never wanted to understand it, until he met Luke who taught him how.

Just like Michael knows he taught Luke a little something about throwing yourself at the world and daring it to throw you back.

So Luke being on vocal rest is strange.

Even if the weird as _fuck_ hand-signals Luke keeps coming up with to ask for things like _Water please_ and _I’m bored_ and _Shut the fuck up Calum_ _other people are allowed to play with RJ_ are some of the most adorable things Michael has seen.

Still, he supposes, it’s nice in some small ways. Like right now, both of them lying together in Michael and Ashton’s hotel room - because Luke and Michael sharing rooms on tour is a good idea for exactly no one, - while Calum and Ashton are foraging for food, and all Michael can hear is the passing rush of the city outside the window, the slightly too-heavy breaths Luke’s taking as he trips between asleep and awake on Michael’s chest, the gentle tap of his own thumb hitting his phone as he scrolls Twitter.

If Michael were a guy who liked relaxing in ways that weren’t either destroying people online on video games or lying in the aftermath of a particularly athletic round of sex, he’d rather like it.

Luke’s not so much as curled up on Michael’s chest as he is completely sprawled across Michael’s torso, so when he jolts himself into full wakefulness with a nasty cough that instinctively makes Michael wince in sympathy, Michael has to slide himself away from his boyfriend for exactly too long to get him the bottle of water that someone - Michael, but he’s admitting nothing - has scrawled _Contaminated: Luke’s Germs_ across. His phone gets lost in the covers.

“Here,” He murmurs, a small part of him unwilling to break the small bubble of peace they found, and presses a hand to the curve of Luke’s back as Luke hacks, the other handing Luke the bottle for him to gulp at. “Don’t choke.” He advises helpfully, and Luke has the presence of mind to throw an exasperated glare at him before he does slow his swallows.

Michael keeps rubbing his back, circular and slow, feeling the almost _rattle_ of Luke’s breath beneath his palm, until Luke pulls away and sits back on his feet, chest heaving. His face is flushed red, a thin sheen of sweat across the bridge of his nose, and he looks so utterly _miserable_ as he makes a complicated hand gesture that even Michael can’t decipher.

“What is it, Lassie?” He asks, voice over-keen, face too-animated. “Timmy stuck down a well?”

He has no trouble working out Luke’s next hand signal.

But Luke’s smirking, even if it’s reluctantly, so who’s the _real_ winner here?

“ _Towel_ ,” Luke’s voice scratches out. “ _Dick_.”

“Rude,” Michael points out, but makes to move, taking the bottle out of Luke’s hand as he goes, because he might as well fill it up while he goes. “And no speaking, you know the rules.” He steals a kiss before he goes, to take the edge off the order because Luke might like hearing them but Michael’s not always the best at giving them, and Luke’s lips taste metallic.

Which, _gross_ , but still.

When he gets back, cold, damp towel in one hand and water in the other, Luke’s staring at him reproachfully.

“What? I got your damn towel,” Michael considers throwing it at Luke, but instead sets down the water and clambers back onto the bed, slotting his knee into the V of Luke’s legs so he can press the cool material to Luke’s forehead.

Luke visibly reacts to the chill, lips parting and eyelids fluttering in relief, but his stare doesn’t weaken. He points to his lips again, pointer finger resting on the full bottom lip that Michael just _needs_ to bite at, always, even when it’s chapped and tastes like illness, then slashes in the air and shakes his head, frowning.

Michael gets the very real feeling he’s just been _told off_ and, well, Michael’s never exactly dealt _well_ with authority. Even if it’s cute when Luke thinks he can.

His eyebrow raises as he asks, “No kisses? Is that what that’s supposed to mean?”

He grins as Luke nods, using his pointer finger again to poke Michael meaningfully in the chest.

He leans forward as he murmurs, “Oh yeah?” and sweeps the towel off Luke’s forehead, dragging it through Luke’s hair to dampen the blonde strands before he throws it to one side and presses up on his knees.

If there’s one thing Michael misses about the quieter, younger, Luke, it’s that Michael used to be the taller one, just by enough that he could kiss _down_ at Luke.

Like this, on his knees, Michael’s lips brush between Luke’s eyebrows, and he kisses at the furrow that rests there. It eases under his touch, as if Luke’s figured out what he’s doing, which is a very stupid move, Luke should have learnt by now that Michael’s _never_ doing what people think he’s doing, and Michael moves to press butterfly light kisses to Luke’s closing eyelids, the curve of his cheekbone.

“So I can’t do this?” He asks, pressing a little kiss to the tip of Luke’s nose, and Luke blinks at him a little cross-eyed before nodding. “ _Good_ ,” He purrs, and Luke’s eyes narrow.

Michael chuckles, and moves his lips down, kissing at the dip above Luke’s lips, before he moves to the right hand corner of his mouth, the left, the divot of his chin. Luke’s breath flutters out across his cheeks, but he doesn’t move away. “This?” He asks, and rubs his nose against the side of Luke’s.

He’s close enough to Luke’s lips that he can feel the buzz of static electricity against the sensitive skin as he parts his own, breath intermingling with Luke’s in the heat of their _tooclosealmosttouching_ mouths. “ _This?_ ” He asks again, without even getting an answer to his previous question, and the movement brushes their lips together, whisper light.

Michael nearly falls forward - and it’s only by how much concentration he’s putting into keeping that barest _hair_ of breath between him and Luke that he doesn’t - when Luke’s hands dart into his hair, holding him there, tugging on the new blond. Luke makes a noise, a high whine mixed with a gasp of air, and Michael laughs again.

“ _Shh_ ,” He reminds, and moves his mouth to Luke’s neck, Luke’s hands still tugging deliciously at his hair.

Although Michael can’t suck at it the way he’d like, can’t bite the creamy flesh and leave his marks littered all across Luke for everyone to see, he can drag too-light lips down the skin laid out before him until he rests in the dip of Luke’s jugular and laps at the drops of sweat he’s created there

Luke moans again, the sound too jagged, and Michael pulls back again.

“You’re really bad at this,” He points out, even if he’s not really sure what _this_ is, he’s just kind of going with it.

Luke huffs, rolling his eyes, and Michael just can’t have that.

It proves to be rather counterintuitive, pushing Luke down into the pillows, what with the startled “ _Guh,_ ” that slips out of his mouth, but Michael thinks it makes his point

Luke’s all pink cheeked beneath him, which Michael is like ninety percent sure is from their not-a-kiss and not Luke’s previous coughing fit, and he looks up at Michael with a challenge in his eyes, the way he always looks at Michael, and Michael grins.

The gesture Luke makes then could be either _I love you_ or _Get over here then_ so Michael takes both to heart and presses a kiss to Luke’s collarbone that surprises Luke with it’s chasteness, before he murmurs, “Remember, babe, _quiet_ ,” and begins moving his way down Luke’s torso.

Luke’s sick, which means he probably wants to keep his shirt on today, and Michael can work with that. So what if his mouth tastes of cotton after he laves at the place he Luke’s left nipple lies, it’s worth it for the way the material clings to Luke in the places he decides to turn his attention to as he kisses his way down.

And Michael knows from experience, that when the material cools, Luke _writhes_.

“Hips,” He instructs, fiddling with the snap of Luke’s jeans, and Luke lifts obediently as Michael struggles to work the damn things down to past mid-thigh. He really wishes Luke would wear something else, because they’re awkward as fuck to get him out of them when Michael needs to, and you’d think that the weirdo would at least wear something else when he’s _sick_ , but Luke insists that he’ll stop wearing skinny jeans the day that Michael does. And Michael’s ass looks too good in skinny jeans to stop anytime soon.

Luckily, so does Luke’s, so Michael’s willing to put up with the extra time it takes him to pull them free of Luke’s legs and hurl them into a corner to be retrieved much, _much_ , later.

Luke’s thighs are slightly damp, salty with sweat as Michael presses an open mouthed kiss to the inside of one, then the other, evidence of his mild fever, and they remind Michael of his forehead, the way Luke’s lips had slipped apart at the chill of the towel.

He reaches again for that towel.

It’s still cool to the touch.

He starts at Luke’s knee, and runs the cloth _up_.

Luke jerks beneath him, muscle jumping in his thigh, and when Michael reaches the material of his boxers, he looks up to see Luke’s face turned and mashed into the pillow, hands clinging to the material by his head. His teeth are clenched around the the fabric, fighting to stay quiet.

“That nice?” Michael asks, ghosting the cloth across where Luke’s dick is straining at his underwear, and Luke’s breath rockets out of him at the touch. Luke nods, frantic and silent but for the sound of his skin rushing against the material, as Michael moves on to Luke’s other thigh.

When he kisses Luke’s thighs again, they’re cool to his lips, though Michael can feel Luke burning underneath.

“Remember, babe,” Michael says in between kisses as he traces a path from Luke’s trembling thighs to the lip of his boxers. “Be good.”

He watches Luke’s face as he frees his dick from his underwear, missing the way Luke’s dick springs free to watch Luke react, and react silently, as he meets the air. Luke’s teeth are buried in the flesh of his bottom lip, holding himself back from making the noises he makes like breaths, like heartbeats, when they fuck. His eyelids are at half mast, like he can’t decide whether to screw them shut yet or not, and Michael sweeps his thumb across the dip of Luke’s pubic bone, half in reward, half to let Luke know that, yes, it’s probably best he waits for that.

Luke’s dick is curving up against his belly, precome wetness staining the hem of his shirt, and Michael feels his mouth water at the sight. Luke’s smaller than Michael, but thicker, and Michael uses the thumb he already has nearby to thumb at the very base of Luke’s cock, watch it jump. Taking cues from before, he touches Luke as lightly as possible, fingertips barely touching him as he circles him before they shaft upwards, slow and teasing.

“ _Fucker_ ,” Luke accuses, half laughing, half groaning, and Michael stops millimetres away from the jut of Luke’s leaking head. He takes the opportunity as he waits to palm himself roughly through his own jeans, relieving the pressure that the sight of Luke’s hands knuckled in the sheets as he controls himself again is creating.

Then he licks a warm, wet, stripe up over his fingers and across the slit of Luke’s dick.

He stops again, waiting, but Luke remains silent but for his heavy, rasping, breathing.

“Good,” He praises, because it’s always easy to praise Luke, especially when the fucker _preens_ under it and looks so fucking smug that it hits all of Michael’s buttons. And especially now, when Luke’s almost too gone to hear it.

Michael’s not doing much better.

“Sorry, Luke,” He murmurs, because this really isn’t going to be fair, but Michael feeds himself Luke’s dick like he’s starving for it, slowly taking the inches until he’s halfway down, before he twists off with a slow, wet, _pop_.

Luke’s hands are back in his hair, pulling tight enough to hurt, the edge that Michael lives for, as if he’s taking all the strength he’s using to remain silent from Michael, and Michael gives it to him, mouths back down onto his dick to feel the burn of his jaw, the weight on his tongue, the pressure at the back of his throat, all at once, and all Luke.

For a long moment, Michael’s enjoying himself too much to realise that Luke’s moaning and it’s fucking _obscene_. It takes him another moment to remember that _Luke shouldn’t be doing that_ , and one more to convince himself to stop his tongue from tracing patterns into the underside of Luke’s cock, to pull back once again to Luke’s protests.

Michael’s breathing heavily as he presses his hands into Luke’s hips, holding him still, firm, until Luke looks back at him. “Vocal rest, babe,” He says, voice almost as wrecked as Luke’s. “Will you _please_ let me suck your dick without ruining your voice?”

“ _Then hurry up_.” Luke’s voice cracks painfully, and Michael figures that that’s probably the best solution, both for Luke’s throat and for Michael’s desperate need to suck Luke off this second if only the asshole would stop talking.

“Then shut up,” He retorts, winks when Luke glares at him, and decidedly wins the argument by swallowing Luke down in one. Michael might not be able to deepthroat like Luke can, but he’s been practicing and he can manage anything if it’s to _win_.

Luke doesn’t need long. Michael can feel it building in him, in the way his body goes still, the way his muscles bunch in his stomach under Michael’s hands, the way he barely makes a sound. During sex, Luke is the loudest asshole ever, every whimper and groan spilling from him like he can’t help them and after this experiment it’s clear that he _really fucking can’t_ \- but when he comes, he comes silently. Like everything’s been stripped from him. Like Michael’s stripped him bare.

His fingers screw up in Michael’s hair, his thighs clamp around Michael like he never wants to let him go, and Luke comes without a sound.

Michael needs even less time than Luke. He’s still coughing lightly from what he couldn’t swallow of Luke’s come, wiping his mouth with one hand and he shoves the other down his jeans and, very gracelessly, jerks himself off as Luke’s hands relax in his hair.

“Maybe you need the vocal rest,” Luke offers, because he clearly has no idea what vocal is supposed to mean - Michael’s not explaining to Ashton why Luke’s voice is still fucked, he isn’t -  and Michael laughs as he comes.

“You’re really fucking terrible at this,” Michael says, after, working his hand free from his jeans and flopping onto his back.

There’s not a sound from Luke.

When Michael looks up, Luke’s just smiling his shit-eating grin at him, completely silent, and Michael starts the feeling that, somehow, he’s been played.

“Oh, _what-the-fuck-ever_ ,” He laughs, reaching up to entangle his hand with Luke’s because he doesn’t have the energy in him right now to be outraged at whatever it is he’s supposed to be outraged at. “Fetch your own damn water next time.”

 


End file.
